


Epilogue

by blackstar



Series: 30 day writing challenge [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dorks in Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Stiles is a writer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 15:57:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2074197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstar/pseuds/blackstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had moved into Derek’s loft without any official agreement. About a year ago, he had stayed over several nights in a row, while they were planning a strategy on dealing with the politics of the pack on fairies in the territory and then he’d just… continued to stay. They hadn’t really talked about it and it did seem weird to everyone at one time or another, but no one mentioned it and so the time went.  </p>
<p>or </p>
<p>writer!Stiles is finishing his first book and then he's planning on an adventure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

> Lucky day 13 :D 
> 
> This was supposed to be so dark and sad and then I just threw it away and wrote fluff instead. That's how I roll. 
> 
> Unbeta'd.

The view of Stiles sitting in an unrealistically weird pose with his laptop on him was, strangely, nothing Derek wasn’t accustomed to. He came in with a cup of coffee in each hand, still not completely awake, and plopped on the free end of the couch, leaving the coffee in Stiles’ waiting hand first.

“Morning.” Stiles chipped, looking up for a second and flashing him a smile, before returning his attention to the laptop once again. Derek grunted in response. “Sleep well?” Derek grunted yet again, still not enthused enough to form words. Instead, he pushed himself further into the many pillows of the couch, the existence of which was Stiles’ fault in every possible – he had insisted Derek needs more pillows, he had bought the material and had sewn together, while devising the next part of his book in a hugely graphical manner, which demanded someone watching over him almost 24/7, protecting the loft from his creativity. Mostly, it had been Derek, who had watched over the whole ordeal, as he lived in the loft, and a record low number of things were completely destroyed with notes, strings, pictures and arrows. Stiles later said that was because Derek was the only one who really paid attention to what Stiles was doing and followed his train of thought, so he could ‘appease me with actual discussion, Scott’. Derek had been immensely proud of himself that day.

“So how’s the book going?” Derek asked after a couple of minutes listening to Stiles’ fingers running over the keyboard enthusiastically. It was month 11 of him asking the same question and getting the regular stream of complaints about a character or a plot line or his editor (Lydia, who was doing this in her spare time and out of the goodness of her heart) or his lack of muse or whatever. He almost didn’t respond right away, didn’t process it correctly, when Stiles said:

“I have maybe a couple of more thousand words to write, it’s the epilogue.” While continuing to tap on keys, his whole attention concentrated on the screen.

Derek froze.

\---

Stiles had moved into Derek’s loft without any official agreement. About a year ago, he had stayed over several nights in a row, while they were planning a strategy on dealing with the politics of the pack on fairies in the territory and then he’d just… continued to stay. They hadn’t really talked about it and it did seem weird to everyone at one time or another, but no one mentioned it and so the time went.

Stiles was writing and needed space, for his ideas and his boards and his meaningless to other people chatter; space for his many scattered notes and also someone to make him coffee and bring him food from time to time, for when he was lost in the story. It wasn’t as if Stiles was useless in the loft – sometimes when he’d get writer’s block or the nervous ticking of his limbs got too much, he was the most productive person Derek knew – he cleaned and cooked and brought groceries and also made the weirdest decorations for the rooms, even without occasion, just to make everything brighter. As if his presence alone wasn’t doing enough.

The two of them would get into really intense conversations about books, since Stiles found out Derek’s favorite pastime was reading. He’d try to get as much ideas about his story and the character development through Derek while they were still on the board, or he’d read excerpts of his work to try it with a reader. They’d discuss favorite authors and novels and stories, characters and plot twists, books that had kept them up all night. And after, about everything else. About the power of the internet or their friends, about love and relationships, about the past and the future. Derek doesn’t remember ever sharing that much of himself with someone outside of his family, mainly someone other than Laura, because she had been his best friend while she was alive, his whole life. He’d told Stiles as much and the response he’d gotten was a soft smile and a quiet “thank you”, which was worth so much to Derek, the knowledge that Stiles appreciated him.

When they were talking about the future, there was always a pang of jealousy in Derek’s heart because Stiles wanted to move away when his first book was published – he’d found an open-minded publisher, who had let him roam free with the book and editor after reading the drafts. Move away and travel, see the world, gain experience, work odd jobs and meet people. And maybe after that, however long that took, he’d come back to Beacon Hills. Maybe.

The future is now; Derek gulped.

\---

They didn’t talk much after that, Derek too afraid to ask if Stiles was already packing his things. Objectively, he knew there was still time – he’d have to revise and redo with Lydia the parts he’d finished now; he’d have to wait for the final response from his publisher and that ordeal could take a couple of months. But Derek could now see Stiles really leave, in the near future, and that was scaring him more than he thought possible. He fidgeted, which was weird of him, and when he realized it, he jumped up and away from the couch and Stiles, put his running clothes on and went out.

He got lunch with Isaac and wandered around until after sunset, getting home finally at around ten. Stiles was sitting in the chair instead of on the couch now, and his laptop was nowhere in sight.

“Everything okay?” Derek asked, looking over his worried expression.

“You…” Stiles opened his right palm in front of him, showing Derek his phone. “…forgot your phone here. And were gone the entire day. And Isaac said you had had lunch together and you acted like something was off and then you don’t come home and you don’t tell anyone anything.” Stiles shuts up and looks down, to his lap, where his other hand is, clenched in a fist. “Don’t do that.”

Derek huffed and passed by Stiles, grabbing his phone, on the way to his room. He stopped dead in his tracks, hearing Stiles’ voice sounding even more strained and more high-pitched, as if he was trying so very hard to keep himself composed.

“What’s wrong?” and after a pause, “Did I do something?”

Derek stood in his spot, looking at the back of Stiles’ head and not saying anything.

“I don’t know what I did so if you could please tell me.” Stiles took a sharp breath “I just don’t know what it is.”

“I’m not mad at you, Stiles.” Derek said, slowly, and didn’t wait for an answer, closing the door to his room after he was in it.

\---

Derek made two cups of coffee before he was even completely conscious and stepped into the living room, only to find it empty. That was weird – he couldn’t remember a time where Stiles had slept longer than him. He listened, trying to find Stiles around the loft, but he was alone. He left the coffee on the table and walked around the place. Stiles’ laptop and a couple of his shirts were the only things Derek could see were missing; the boards and the notes were there, Stiles’ second favorite hoodie wrapped around a pillow on the couch, as it always was. Derek felt sick to his stomach – is this how the loft is going to look like when Stiles left? Except without the lingering scent of him, without the pieces of him lying around. Derek tried to imagine all the notes and arrows and little thoughts, which hung all over the walls right now, being gone one by one, until his loft was back to being empty and grey. The origami suns, which now hung from the lamp, which Stiles had crafted 2 weeks prior, gone. The life out of the place, out of Derek, as well.

Derek got back to the table and took one of the cups, sitting in his usual spot and turning the TV on.

\---

“So, the book is happening soon?” Derek asked, awkward, completely unequipped for this conversation but eager to talk to Stiles.

“Yep.”

“Did you finish editing with Lydia?” he tried again, seeing how Stiles wouldn’t continue. It was so atypical, him being the main driver of the conversation. Still, he wouldn’t let Stiles go just like that.

“Yep, 4 days ago.” He’d been gone only a week, things were moving so much faster than Derek anticipated.

“And you’re…” Derek didn’t dare finish. He looked down at his feet instead of watching Stiles pack his things in a duffel. “I’m sorry.” He said finally and that made Stiles stop and turn, looking angry.

“Sorry for the book being published or sorry about you acting like a dick about it?” he asked, level.

“I’m not sorry that your book is being published, Stiles, don’t be an idiot.”

“Really? Then why did you start avoiding me like I am the plague as soon as I finished the damn thing? I came here Saturday and you actually left without saying a single word. Do you think that’s normal behavior? After everything we…” Stiles shuts up again and shifts his attention back to pushing his clothes into the duffel. His heart is pounding and Derek can smell, can feel the disappointment, the sadness of Stiles. He steps closer, eager to soothe.

“Stiles.” He puts his hands on Stiles’ shoulders for as long as it takes to turn him and then drops them back to hang awkwardly around his body. “I’m sorry, I was being a child. I’m glad the book is happening finally.” He smiles and pulls away.

“Why then?” Derek started to shake his head in response - that it didn’t matter, but Stiles pushed “Why did you act like that? Tell me what happened, Derek, I think I deserve that much.”

“Because I don’t want you to go, okay?” Derek blurted and faced with Stiles’ shocked expression, he explained: “I know you want to go and I want you to live that life of adventure and I want you to have a great life but I’m greedy and I don’t want you to have that life away from me. I don’t… I don’t want to hear about how awesome it is to be away from us, me, and I don’t want to listen about your love life, because you’re going to have that too and some lucky girl or guy is going to just…” Derek took a breath, still faced with the wide-eyed shock of Stiles “They’re not going to know how much they have to appreciate every second with you.” He finished slowly and took a step back.

Stiles takes a step forward, his expression not changing. They match another step towards the door, still keeping the same distance.

“Like you would?” Stiles asked finally and his lips started curving upward, his eyes darkening. While Stiles advanced with deliberate but slow steps, Derek contemplates running away and hiding until Stiles is gone.

He doesn’t get the opportunity though, because the long fingers of Stiles’ hands, with callouses from writing and drawing, cup his jaw and draw him in.

“I’ve been waiting…” Stiles says and then they’re kissing, slow and deliberate, a chaste touch of their lips. When they pull apart, Stiles’ hands don’t leave Derek’s face. “You’re an emotionally constipated werewolf and I am never again letting you do something as stupid as avoiding me, do you get that?” He asks and kisses Derek again, this time opening his lips with a curious tongue. Derek moves them even closer together, hands on Stiles’ middle, his mind racing with questions and possibilities and more questions but mostly – the feeling of Stiles kissing him.

\---

The book is the first thing he sees when he wakes up and rolls out of bed on his way to make coffee. It’s lying right next to the bed, where Derek would out his legs on his way down.

 

**The Red Family**

**_Stiles Stilinski_ **

It had an enigmatic cover, which revealed nothing of the plot, except maybe that it was a thriller, with all the blood. Derek felt as awake as he’d get when he opened to the first page, where it was hand-written, in blue instead of the black ink all around it:

To Derek

For an Epilogue, which leads to the most important of beginnings.

Never believe in the end of a book.

-          S

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I hate angst and am going to proceed to read as much as I can before falling asleep tonight. :D
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I made up everything about the publishing of the book. I don't think any publisher would just let a random editor --- oh, what am I talking about. I just don't know about that, so let's just roll with that. :D


End file.
